Games
by thegiantess
Summary: Katniss has two games to play and they're both as deadly as each other. Katniss/Cato. There will be lemons.
1. The Stables

I stood in my simple black unitard, expertly designed by Cinna to cling gently to my body, softening the sharp protrusions of ribs, hipbones and clavicle that is so common among us Seam kids, who grow up hungry and cold. I am better off than most, because I am able to catch game to feed my family. Others aren't so lucky and it isn't uncommon for people to waste away to literally nothing, because they can't afford food.

The Capitol is so radically different to District 12. I'm no longer the Katniss Everdeen who gained respect and friendship at the hob for being my father's daughter and bringing in enough game to keep most people with meat in their mouths. I'm now Katniss Everdeen, District 12 tribute, and famous across the land for being the first District 12 volunteer tribute in history.

Since arriving, I have been waxed, plucked, steamed, cleaned, scrubbed, soaked and polished. My hair has been conditioned to an exceptional gloss and my nails filed to elegant ovals, painted the glowing orange of lit coal. My face is even lightly made up. I barely recognise myself when I look in the mirror, but I'm attracting more and more attention by the moment.

I gently caress the flank of the coal-black horse who will drag my chariot behind those of the 11 other districts, to introduce me to the Capitol. To parade me in front of those who will place bets upon my death, which at this point is almost inevitable. The last winner from district 12 was at the last Quarter Quell, 25 years ago, and he was Haymitch Abernathy, my mentor. He's a miserable, bitingly sarcastic and bitter old alcoholic. But he wants to see me win.

Thinking I was alone in the holding pen, I exhale loudly and stretch out my supple muscles, rolling my shoulders back, arching my back, bending down to grip my toes, when, out of nowhere I feel a sold surface pressed against my behind, and hands around my waist. When I defensively whirl around to see my company, I stop short. It is the district 2 male tribute. Cato, I think his name was, when I saw his reaping re-run on one of the Capitol T.V.s. He's massive, well over six feet, and built broadly with an extremely muscular physique. An extremely muscular physique than I currently can't keep my eyes off, as he is wearing very little. A tiny gladiator's costumes hangs from his hips, leaving his chest completely bare and golden with tan, shining gold temporary tattoos weaving intricate patterns up and down his bulging biceps. I look up now into his face, which is very handsome in a very 'Capitol' way. It's no wonder all the women have been clamouring to get a shot at him, even my own prep team, who spent lunch gushing over the 'beautiful boy from 2'.

His handsome face is wearing a smirk, which immediately angers me and puts me on edge. He knew I'd been staring at him. Why am I such an idiot? A moronic flush breaks out on my cheeks, prickling up my chest and neck. My face is aflame with embarrassment and I lower my face to intently study the soft leather boots on my feet.

"Look but don't touch, Princess" Cato says. His voice is soft and deep but deadly.

Indignantly I look up at him again and force myself to make eye contact "What makes you think I'd want to touch, district 2" I spit, using the collective district pronoun as a way to distract myself from the fact that I do want to touch. Badly. I need to remember that he is my enemy. I need to stop behaving like giggling teenager and focus. In the arena that we'll be thrown into in a matter of days, I will have to fight him to the death.

_Katniss, this is no time to be ogling his pecs. Stop it! Stop looking!_ my brain is screaming at me, but it's difficult to make my eyes obey.

Cato chuckles at my response and moves closer, backing me up into the wall of the stable containing district 12's horses and chariot. He takes my chin and tilts my face up to look me in the eyes, his piercing blue ones framed by long golden brown lashes, taking me in. I can see the appraisal in his face as his gaze drifts from my long dark hair, thick and shiny and weaved into intricate braids, onto my face. I am a pretty girl, so I'm told back home. I have my mother's high cheekbones and elegant nose, the same aristocratic angle in the jaw and the soft cleft in the chin that distinguishes me from a typical Seam girl, but from my father I inherited soft, full lips, big, slate-grey eyes with sooty lashes, and flawless olive skin. His eyes drop from my face, down the long, elegant line of my neck, and he traces my collarbones with his surprisingly soft thumbs. Next, his gaze lingers on my chest, which is rapidly rising and falling as I struggle to maintain control of myself, but my body is betraying me. My nipples have grown stiff and sensitive under my unitard and I can feel moisture gathering between my legs. I'm almost panting with arousal over this brutal stranger stripping me naked with only his intense blue stare, but I will not let it beat me. I will control myself, I repeat over and over again in my head like a mantra.

Cato leans in close, so his lips brush my ear. A whimper forces its way out of my lips, which I bite shut and hope he didn't notice.

"You're purring like a kitten, Katniss" he whispers "I know you can't resist"

"Resist what?" I say with as much venom as I can muster. Unfortunately that's about as much venom as is in a bunch of daisies. In fact, it sounds more like a yelp.

He laughs at me again and I glare at him, desperately wishing that the ground would swallow me whole.

"Resist _me_. I can tell what sort of girl you are, Princess, and you're nowhere near as innocent as you make out, are you babe?"

I grimace at the nicknames.

"Before we go into that arena, 12, I'm going to have you. And i'm going to make you beg for it" he murmurs it into my ear so sensuously that my knees wobble.

"Over my dead body" I reply, finally with some semblance of dignity. No one makes me beg. No one.

He presses a searing kiss against my slightly parted lips, roughly shoving his tongue into my mouth, and it takes a minute of me kissing him back, sliding my own tongue against his, battling for dominance before I realise what's going on. I'm kissing a district 2 career tribute. I pull away and land a right hook on his cheek. For a moment he is shocked, but then his face breaks out in a grin.

"It seems as if we have our own Games now, district twelve" he tells me with a smirk. We are still to close for comfort.

"May the odds be _never_ in your favour" I say. This is a game I refuse to lose.

"Meet me after the parade" Cato says. It's an order.

"Tell me why I should"

"Because I know you want to"

He roughly squeezes my arse, winks arrogantly at me and walks away, leaving me trembling in my stable.

The worst thing is, I know he's right.


	2. Girl on Fire

I walk away from her, smirking. Seemingly, it's my new default facial expression. Clove rushes over in her matching skimpy outfit, hissing something about how she's been looking for me everywhere, how we need to assess the competition. The only competition I want to assess is Katniss Everdeen, and I'd like to assess her alone and naked. Right now, however, images of a naked Katniss aren't what I need, as I start to get hard under my tiny costume. It takes the most repulsive sights I can muster in my mind to tame it into submission, and we board the chariot, which pulls out behind that of District 1. I've been training for this moment my whole life. It's time to meet my public.

The crowd screams hysterically as our chariot rolls down the wide gleaming streets, paved in the sparkling white granite so popular here in the Capitol. I have to admit that although Clove is a pissy bitch sometimes, we make a good pair. Her willowy slenderness contrasts with my bulk, but I know that every single ounce of her is pure muscle, solid, strong and lethal. We share the same blonde hair and blue eyes. No wonder the Capitol crowd falls all over each other to please us. As we step off our Chariot to mount the stage, Clove's arms full of pink roses tossed to her from the crowd, I don't bother to offer her a hand to get down and cheekily tuck the flimsy silver knickers that landed on my shoulder during the procession into my pocket with a wink and the crowd goes wild.

When we're up on the stage, standing close enough to show that we're allies but keeping our distance because no matter what, we're out for ourselves. Passively, we watch the other tributes roll in. As District 12 make their appearance, a hush falls over the screaming crowd. As they roll into our view, we all see what is either the most brilliant or the mist stupid set of costumes in the history of the Hunger Games. They are both on fire.

"Here are our District 12 tributes, Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen: The Girl on Fire!" Caesar Flickerman announces over the tannoy.

The crowd is going crazy, and Peeta and Katniss are playing up to them perfectly. I even see her blowing kisses to her adoring fans. The girl I spoke to earlier did not seem like this giggling, grinning girl. She's beautiful, the flames from her head piece licking the flawless lines of her face but not leaving so much as a blemish. She's radiant, a goddess, easily the prettiest District 12 tribute I've seen in my lifetime. Annoyingly though, she's got the boy's hand in a death grip and he's clearly loving it because he's staring up at her like a lovesick puppy.

He's the first one I'll sink my sword into in the arena and I'll enjoy it. She however seems oblivious to the googly eyes as she walks up the steps to the stage, practically dragging him behind her as the flames on their costumes die down to softly glowing embers. I look over at her and catch her looking. Our eyes meet and she looks down, blush creeping up her neck. I smirk, again.

We all stand on the stage as speeches are made and formalities completed, and I note with annoyance that she is still holding her district partner's hand, then we're ushered off to our prep teams and stylists to be changed for the official tribute's first night feast, a huge party to celebrate the start of training for the Games. The golden tattoos are washed off my arms and I'm dressed simply in a midnight blue tux, crisp white shirt with diamond buttons and cufflinks, and matching navy velvet bow tie. The colour brings out my eyes, and I look good. Clove and I walk in arm and she looks dangerously sexy in a plunging navy gown covered in navy sequins, her hair severely tied back from her face.

Everyone has pulled out all the stops for this party, and the tributes sit, randomly placed at small round tables with various Capitol officials scattered amongst us. The gamemakers and President Snow preside over the feast at a long table at the top of the ballroom. I smile when I see that Katniss is seated next to me, and take my seat. I see her walk in, and she looks so innocent that all I can think of is how I'm going to defile her, strip her, make her beg for me, scream for me. Picturing her naked but for lacy knickers, tied spreadeagle on my bed, inviting the assault of my tongue with her velvet lips and begging for more. I notice myself tenting my trousers and try to calm down.

Her dress is a cloud of dove-grey chiffon that clings to her chest, tying at the shoulders with pins shaped like feathers, encrusted with diamonds and rubies, dipping low in the back but covering her up to her collarbones in the front, gathered at the waist and floating down, semi-sheer to the floor. Never before in my life have I paid so much attention to what a girl is wearing. Her hair is held back with a string of pearls and cascades in ringlets down her smooth, bare back and her lips are peach and plump and glossy.

Before I lose myself in fantasies of shoving up all that cloudy chiffon and fucking her against the nearest wall, she approaches the table and sits down beside me. She doesn't say a word, so evidently her tactic is to just ignore me. We'll see how well that'll work out. When pleasantries are exchanged with several Capitol officials, and the President's tailor, who are among our table-mates, and a starter of foie gras with slivers of toast and a selection of chutneys is served, I turn to Katniss.

"That was some entrance you made earlier, Princess" I say, just loudly enough for her to hear. I get no response, but she turns to a minister sat a few seats away and gushes over how much tastier Capitol food is compared to the mush she eats back in District 12. The Girl on Fire is sparkling, and has all the men at our table completely under her thumb. Apart from me. I will not be under the thumb of any woman.

Under the table, I put my hand on her knee, and she tenses up, trying to anticipate my next move, but when I just leave my hand there, rubbing firm circles into the soft flesh with my thumb, she relaxes and continues to ignore me and speak to our table mates, charming them more and more with each word that flows from those plump glossy lips. Annoyed at this ignorance, I let my hand drift slowly but firmly up her thigh until eventually she says to her enraptured audience

"I'm _ever _so sorry, Gentlemen, but it seems I have been ignoring my fellow tribute here! Cato, is it?" She asks, with a tinkling laugh, but the look in her eyes is pure steel.

"Yes" I reply "I don't even need to ask who you are: Katniss Everdeen, Girl on Fire!" My hand has not moved from its spot at the top of her thigh, fingers lightly grazing, brushing the dip between her legs. I haven't got her dress up yet though, so I'm only touching her through her dress, but her breathing is already starting to quicken.

She's excused by the ministers, who carry on a conversation about something unbearably dull, like economics, and she whips around to me, flicking her curls over one shoulder.

"_What _do you think you're doing, asshole" she hisses from between her gritted pearly teeth.

"Getting your attention, Princess" I tell her, moving my hand so it's between her legs, rubbing her through her dress in the most intimate of places.

"Stop it" she says but the flush on her cheeks tells me she doesn't mean it, so I quicken the motion of my fingers. A soft whine breaks from her throat and her hips begin to rock against my hand, but she's desperately trying to claw for control over herself.

"Do you really want me to stop, Katniss?" I ask, forcing her to look me in the eyes.

"Yes" I read the lie in her grey eyes before the word falls from her lips.

"Really, really?" I ask again, speeding up my fingers again. She shakes her head, no.

"Tell me Princess, use your words" I tease her, slowing down again when I sensed her impending orgasm.

"No"

"Tell me what you don't want, Katniss" I need to let her know that I am in control.

"I don't want you to stop" she half-whispers, half-whines.

I'm satisfied, so I speed up more, her hips bucking as subtly as she can make them, a mouthful of soft, sweet bread muffling the sounds of her murmurs and sighs of pleasure. Then, just before she comes, as she's on the brink, I stop. I pull my hand away and carry on with my dinner as if nothing had ever happened.

When the feast is over, I see her stand up on shaky legs and storm out, an almost unnoticeable damp patch on the back of her pretty dress, and nipples standing to attention under the almost sheer material. I grin to myself.

She'll be back for more.

_A/N: Thanks for reading this guys, I wanna know where you want me to go with this, do you want more power games and more smut, because that's where my plot bunnies are headed! Virtual cookies for you all for reading! :) xx_


	3. More

My knees don't want to cooperate as I stand up to walk out of the ballroom. I'm furious, I'm humiliated - but I'm also wetter than I've ever been before. Cato drove me to the brink and back over that dinner and then left me needing release more than ever. I'm wobbling on my heels and my thighs are slippery with my juice. I know my nipples are visible through this dress and for some perverse reason that turns me on even more.

I can't help the way my body reacts. When it's given pleasure, it completely succumbs to it, as it thinks that pleasure will be taken away. It's why, since arriving at the Capitol I've stuffed my face like the food is about to be stolen from me. It's something starving to the brink of death instills into you. Now apparently, the same reaction is applied to sex. I've had sex before of course, most Seam girls have fucked for a better bargain and I'm one of them. I'm not one of the worst though, I'm not one of the scrawny, emaciated young women who line up outside the head peacekeeper's house to offer him their bodies in return for a handful of coins or a reprieve from a punishment or a bowl of grain. I'll fuck good-looking merchants or their sons, to drive up the price of my game. It's a business transaction, albeit a pleasurable one. Gale and I have experimented, innocently and childishly exploring each other's bodies with no skill, only fuelled by hormones and the knowledge that nothing can change our friendship. I guess our sexual encounters with each other were more educational than anything. A way to while away the long ours in the woods we spent waiting for our snares to catch a few rabbits, a way to forget the heartbreaking poverty on our doorstep by losing ourselves in the contours of each other's bodies.

But the way I feel around Cato is completely new and I don't know how to deal with him. This sexual weakness isn't likely to do me any favours in the arena. He is my enemy and I need to remember that. I board the elevator, thankfully alone, and rip off my high heels. My feet are screaming and all I want is to shower off the body shimmer and crawl into bed. I strip as I walk towards the shower, discarding first my shoes, then my stockings, dress and underwear until I pad barefoot and naked into the shower, which automatically drenches me in hot water. It's bliss, feeling the water wash away my frustration, anger and humiliation. Oh, I'm still furious, but revenge is a dish best served cold. I do my best to ignore the dull throb between my legs, reminding me of the crazy power Cato has over me, and methodically scrub every inch of my body, working shampoo into thick fragrant suds in my hair, washing away all the traces of 'pretty Katniss', and turning myself back into the rough-and-ready district 12 girl I'd always been.

When I step out of the shower, I pull on a soft set of brushed-cotton pyjamas, with pretty lace around the legs of the shorts and lace straps to the camisole. An Avox has already turned down my sheets, and on my bedside table sits a tray with a stack of hot, buttered toast, a mug of hot chocolate and a glass of water. I devour the toast because I need all the calories I can get, but I lie back against the stacks of fluffy pillows to luxuriantly sip my hot chocolate. Not long after I've drained my mug, I fall asleep, flat on my front.

My dreams are exceptionally vivid tonight. I can feel every touch as if it's real.

_I can't see his face, but I know who it is. I'm blindfolded and I don't know where I am or why I'm there. Strong but soft fingers stroke gently down the line of of my jaw, before going to my hair and loosening my hair from its braid. Those same strong hands expertly massage my scalp, and I allow a soft moan to escape my lips. A soft chuckle breezes against the sensitive skin of my neck and the hands, soft - but strong - travel down my chest, effortlessly flicking open the pearly buttons of my silky shirt, slipping it from my shoulders, massaging my breasts through the filmy fabric of my bra, his mouth doing amazing things to my neck, sucking up marks, making me shiver. I was squirming at his touch, even the brush of his skin against mine was making me wet, and as the hands travelled further down, brushing against the smooth skin of my stomach I felt the knot in my stomach tightening, and as those same hands made their way between my legs, groping me roughly, I could barely control myself, couldn't stop myself from bucking my hips against his hands, anything to create the friction that I craved ..._

"Katniss, Sweetie?" Effie Trinket's shrill voice broke through my dream and I jolted awake, face flushed, breathing accelerated.

"Effie what are you doing in my room? Why are you sitting on my bed?" I flop straight back down and drag a pillow over my head.

"You need to be on schedule Katniss" Effie chides in her grating Capitol accent "And it's breakfast time"

I pull myself out of bed and haul myself into the outfit Cinna has laid out for me, skintight black leggings, burgundy tunic and canvas plimsolls, carelessly weaving my hair into its usual braid down my back. I trudge down to breakfast, wolfing down warm buttered rolls stuffed with salty bacon, sipping on a mug of hot chocolate with gooey melted marshmellows. I try to ignore Peeta, who is staring at me across the table. It's unnerving.

As soon as I'd wolfed down my breakfast, I made the excuse that I needed to stretch out properly and limber up for the morning's training, and stepped into the elevator that would take me down to the gym, where I could push myself on the treadmill, running out all my anger. The descent was smooth and fast, until it abruptly stopped.

**DISTRICT TWO** flashed up on the floor-indicator screen. My blood ran cold, and I hoped against hope that it would only be Clove on the other side of that door. No such luck, as the doors slide open and I find myself staring straight into the incredibly well muscled chest of everyone's least-favourite, sex-mad, touchy-feely, District Two male tribute. The minute he saw me standing in the 5 by 5 foot glass box, with nowhere to run, the smarmiest grin I've ever seen in all my days plasters itself across his perfectly chiselled face.

He steps in and we stand in uncomfortable silence for a while, before he pushes a red button and the elevator stops abruptly.

"You're leaving?" I ask, a bit too hopefully

"Not a chance, Princess" he replies, rounding on me and backing me up into a corner.

"This elevator is see-through Cato" I say, already trying to fight off my encroaching arousal.

"One-way glass, Katniss" he replies smartly.

I dart around him, so he's no longer got me cornered, and start on the tirade that I planned in my head in the shower last night.

"What. The. Fuck. Cato! What the fuck did you think you were playing at last night? There was a fucking gamemaker on our table you absolute Neanderthal! Do you really think that they wouldn't notice that you were trying to finger me under the table? Do you honestly believe that they won't use that against us in the arena? And besides that, it's so inappropriate, WHAT is wrong with you, I fucking h -" The words are stolen from my lips as his mouth invades my own, slight stubble scraping my chin, and all I can taste is him. That taste that is just pure Cato and speaks to me of animal lust and uncontrollable urges.

"I didn't hear you complaining babe"

"Well I was hardly about to announce to a table full of IMPORTANT CAPITOL PEOPLE that you were ... ahem ... touching me in, er, intimate places - especially over the dinner table!"

"And here I was, thinking that District Twelve was full of brutes who didn't know their table manners"

I shoot him daggers. He's so close, I can almost feel his presence. His ego is so massive it's pretty much fucking tangible. My body's reacting without my permission, goosebumps raising on the back of my neck, flush prickling up my chest, heart pounding. Subconciously, I moisten my lips. As soon as I do it, I realise my mistake. Cato's tone turned from cocky and sarcastic to seductive, almost predatory.

"Wait ... you actually _liked_ it, didn't you, Princess?" He's got me cornered again, and his hands go to my waist, controlling my movements "You liked it when I touched you in front of all of those important Capitol people, didn't you? You're not pissed off because I touched you - you're pissed off that I left you on the edge" He laughs. I flush deep red. I can't meet his eyes.

"Tell me" It's an order.

"I'm pissed off at you" I say, simply.

He undoes the button on my trousers and roughly pulls them down, taking my lace underwear down with them.

"People will see!" I whine, but his fingers are already where I need them to be, and I almost don't want him to stop.

"One-way glass, remember - we can see them, but they can't see us"

His free hand paws at my breast as he claims my mouth in another rough, bruising kiss. I raise my arms to encircle his shoulders, slowly lifting up my leg to give him better access. Finally, I have him, skin on skin, even though he's still fully clothed.

"I knew you were into this, but not this much. Fuck, you're so wet" he mumbles into my mouth. A finger slides into me, but it's not enough. He reads my squirming right, asking me what I want.

I reply with a single word: "More"

A second finger joins the first, and the friction made between the heel of his hand and my clit is driving me wild. Animal sounds are forming in my throat, turning into choked moans and whimpers when they leave my mouth. I'm shaking, so he holds me up as effortlessly as if I were made of fresh air. His pace quickens and my breathing becomes ragged. I'm ready to snap and I can't breathe when a final twist of his fingers inside my makes me come undone. I literally scream, thrashing my hips wildly, broken sobs bursting forth from my lips.

He holds me still until I'm done, the tremors of my orgasm still weakening my knees. Gently, he pulls up my trousers and does up my button. Smooths back my hair, softly kisses my lips. This tenderness is alien. He presses the red button again and we continue with our descent to the gym.

Just before we stepped out of the elevator, he shoved me up against the wall and captured my lips in a blistering kiss, before whispering

"Next time, it's my turn ... girl on fire"


	4. The Upper Hand

_A/N: Infinite apologies my loves, updating has been held back by what i like to refer to as 'psycho revision mode' and exams and stuff. I WILL be updating, but it's anybody's guess as to when, until mid-june, when all my exams are over and I'm freeee!_

I'm not used to denying myself anything, so letting Katniss go satisfied whilst I was stuck with the biggest case of blue balls in my life wasn't easy. But I knew that when I did eventually get my payback, it would be glorious. Ducking into the nearest bathroom, I furiously jerked myself off to the image of Katniss, blushing, gasping for breath with her trousers around her knees and her dignity out the window.

When I was done I knew that I had to screw my head back on, and stop thinking about screwing Katniss. I had to prove to every single other tribute in that training gym that I was a force to be reckoned with, a desirable ally and a dangerous enemy. I splashed my face with some icy water from the tap, pulled my shoulders back and strode into the gym, knowing that when I walked in all eyes would be on me.

I was right. Clove rushed over, in the shortest pair of training shorts and a tight, cropped vest, purring in my ear

"Where did you disappear to after breakfast. I thought we were gonna ..." she let her words tail off, because the look of obvious arousal on her face told me all I needed to know.

I snaked my arm around her waist discreetly - I had to keep her on side, keep her as a standby warming my bed at night - placating her with apologies and excuses about how I'd gone for a walk to clear my head, and I'd 'see to her later'. Roughly, I squeezed her arse and she giggled. Hot in bed and deadly in the arena, Clove would have been the girl I would've married, if neither of us had ended up here, and stayed in district two forever. Not because I have any particular feelings for her, just because she can practically suck my brain out through my cock, and is always up for a fuck. She's nothing on Katniss though, none of that almost-innocence and unbridled, untamed sensuality. It's true that Clove screams sex, but in a cold, clinical way. None Katniss' feigned reluctance and uncontrollable reactions.

The introductions are made, and training and practice gets under way. I stick to offensive weapons, they're what I'm good at. Not that I even need this training, as I've been in the District Two Hunger Games Training Facility since the age of 9. Glory-Hungry parents send their children there because, in District Two, it's likely that their child will be victor, and that they will gain the spoils and honour associated with being the victor's family. I've been so thoroughly trained in both combat and survival that I'm pretty sure I could simultaneously build a shelter and catch, skin and cook a rabbit whilst fighting off at least three full grown men. In my sleep.

The first station I stop at are the swords. I pick up a long, deadly sharp, curved cutlass. The sword is my area of expertise. My paintbrush, if you will. My opening move on the lifelike dummy is also a closing one, and elaborate swing which slashes open four major arteries, causing almost immediate death by exsanguination. That really grabs some of the other tributes attention. I wipe the fake blood meticulously from the blade of my sword, and begin honing the blade to razor-sharp perfection. I glance up, scanning the room to see where Katniss is, to figure out her strengths, but she's just at the knot-tying station with the bread boy, who's still gazing at her like a lovesick puppy.

It's enough to make anybody puke, and immediately marks that bread making asshole as my first target in the arena.

As the morning's training progresses, I notice Katniss stealing glances at me every time she can. My t-shirt has long been strewn aside, revealing my toned chest and midriff, and she can't help herself. I swear at one point she actually licked her lips, before teasingly lowering her eyes and continuing on with whatever-the-hell knot she's learning to tie.

By the time lunch rolls round, she's all I can think about. Well, all my cock can think about anyway. Of course she sits as far away from me as possible, at the very far end of the long communal table, but there's something in the savage way she's attacking her enormous slab of steak that suggests that the delicious food isn't all she's hungry for. I get on with my own food, rubbing Clove's thighs under the table promisingly, getting her fired up for what I'm sure will be a marathon fucking tonight. Not that it'll be her face I'm seeing when I screw her.

When we're all done eating, there's 'recreational time', and it's basically just a break, to get to know your opponents. Bread boy marches on up to me, looking like he'd caught me shagging his mum.

"Peeta" he offers his hand for me to shake. I ignore it.

"Cato"

"Yes I know what your name is, asshole"

"Why? You fancy me or something?"

"Don't be a dick. What were you doing up on our floor last night?"

"I wasn't up on your floor, bread boy"

"You were. With Katniss. We all heard you when we got back from the feast! Well, we heard her at least. Keep your fucking hands off her, okay"

Well this was interesting. I felt my face being taken over by the world's most arrogant smirk.

"Well, I don't know what our little virgin princess over there was doing last night, but it most certainly wasn't me. You can even ask Clove ... Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a small problem that I need to sort out"

The midget boy didn't budge.

"In case you didn't quite grasp me the first time, that means get the fuck out of my way before my fist makes hard contact with your windpipe" I smile my most charming smile, side step Peeta and head out the door.

No sooner had I left the lunch hall, than an extremely angry looking Katniss walked bang smack into me. I took this as my opportunity to drag her around a corner and into a conveniently-placed store cupboard filled with various boxes.

"So ... a little bread boy told me you were dreaming about me last night"

"Ugh, you're so fucking arrogant Cato, why would you even ..."

"Look princess, earlier on I had your juices running down my arm while I fingered the absolute fuck out of you in an elevator. I don't think this is any time to pull the whole sweet and innocent act"

She didn't answer, but I read the all-too-familiar look of pure lust in her face. I guess now would be the time to take my pay back. I pushed her gently down to her knees, pushed her face against the growing bulge in my trousers. She took the hint and undid my fly, pulled my dick out of my boxers and slid the entire length of my hard cock into her warm, wet mouth, right down her throat to the point where her every stolen swallow forced a choking sound out of her stretched open mouth. Blindly, she reached up to grab my hands, placing them at the back of her head. I got what she wanted me to do; fuck her face. I gathered her loosened braids up in my hands and roughly thrust myself over and over again into her mouth, losing myself in the strangled chokes and high-pitched moans of pleasure spilling from her mouth.

She actually liked this. She liked my roughness, being used solely for my pleasure and it's that knowledge that sends me crashing over the edge, coming in her mouth like she's a common street whore. She swallows, wipes her lips with the back of her hand and looks me in the eye.

"One all, sweetie. Your move"

She makes out to leave, and i grab her by the waist, pulling her close in a bruising kiss.

"You'd better watch your back, Princess"

She grins, and opens the door to check the coast is clear, before confidently striding off towards the bathroom, leaving me wondering who's got the upper hand now.


End file.
